


Ends Life, Kills Laughter

by Solanaceae



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, References to Torture, character death: canon, maeglin is pretty messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It had not been pain, in the end, that made him submit. His betrayal had been for love, love that was as tainted by the darkness as everything in his life was..." Maeglin's point of view at death. Written for B2MEM 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ends Life, Kills Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Back to Middle-earth Month 2013.
> 
> Prompt from Day 6:
> 
> "It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,  
> Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.  
> It lies behind stars and under hills,  
> And empty holes it fills.  
> It comes first and follows after,  
> Ends life, kills laughter."
> 
> From _The Hobbit _Chapter V, 'Riddles in the Dark' (so naturally I go a write a Silmarillion fanfic for it, what else would I do? Maeglin's point of view, warnings for character death and descriptions of torture. Expanding on the theme of 'darkness'.)__

He was dying, body broken on the rocks, blood glistening on the cold grey stone and broken bones grating against each other, making every moment agony. Above, the sky was purpling with dusk. Stars were appearing. The air tasted of smoke and ash and ruin, but it was blessedly silent. Gone were the screams of the dying and living alike... and  _she_  was gone, too.

_Itarillë..._

His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile, dark and savage. She was gone, and her mortal husband was with her - and the half-mortal spawn of their union as well. But she had known, in the end... and it had killed him, but it had been worth it, to hold a knife to the brat's neck and see the terror on her face.

For once he had held the power, after so long.

She had been afraid of him.

But that fear had fled from her eyes when that Man came, the Man that should have never been allowed into the Hidden City, the Man who had stolen her from him. And that was what hurt him the most. Idril had been his, Maeglin's beautiful light...

 _Never yours, though,_ something in him whispered, scornful and bitter.  _Tuor stole something that could not ever be yours, so why should you care?  
_

And then another thought, flat and final:  _She would have been mine. It was promised._

Promises made in the red grip of pain, when he felt his very soul was being ripped from his body as he screamed to the unhearing Valar - but he had never begged for death. He had not granted that to Morgoth, never. Would not.

It had not been pain, in the end, that made him submit. His betrayal had been for love, love that was as tainted by the darkness as everything in his life was.

_"I can give her to you. Your... Itarillë. You desire her, do you not?"_

_The Elf whimpered, twisting away, chains clinking. His dark eyes were wide and staring. Blood trickled down his pale face. The darkness swirled around him, yanking his chin up. Something flashed silver and his body jerked, a red, weeping gash appearing on his shoulder. A scream lanced through the gloom._

_"You want her." The darkness caressed him, darting downwards, where even now the thought of his cousin aroused him. He shuddered at the touch, tried to pull away, but the chains held him motionless, helpless._

_"Don't you?" It was a harsh hiss, the sound curling around him like a lover's embrace._ _The denials he had practiced all those years - waiting for his secret to be revealed, waiting and almost_ hoping _someone would see - rose in his throat. They never left his mouth. Not here, not in this darkness. Lies were useless here, with his soul laid bare, ripped apart._

_"I can give her to you."_

_And that was all it took to tame him. All it took to doom his people - and himself._

They called him kinslayer as he slew them - and if he had had the time, he could have told them that he was just living up to his mother's legacy. He was of the house of Finwë, was he not? Perhaps this was the bloody proof - betrayal and murder and death. They had always looked at him scornfully for his father - was this not the final proof that he was his mother's son?

_Kinslayer._

There had been fury on Tuor's face as he had dragged him to the edge. Cold fury, under a mask of stony justice - the Man believed he had the right to sentence the traitor to death in the place of their king, and that had infuriated Maeglin more than everything else.

_Not you, you bastard. You were not the one that should condemn me thus. You had no right._

Right or not, nothing and no one had stopped Tuor from shoving him into oblivion. No one had stepped forward to help. And Idril's eyes had been colder than the ice his mother had crossed, and her arms had been wrapped around her son, the boy that should have been Maeglin's.

He closed his eyes.

_He had watched the city fall, watched the ruin of his mother's people, and wondered at its glory. This - this had all been his doing. Fire and blood spreading through the Hidden City, and he was ruler of it all for one glorious second._

Remember who you are, _the darkness whispered, and he shuddered at the memories. Thin spiderwebs of pain crept along his back, where Morgoth's sharp steel had sliced into him, ripped the skin from him until he howled, writhing on the floor with the chains digging into his wrists and ankles._

_Other screams now tore the air around him - mothers and fathers and children, watching their loved ones cut down before their eyes, watching their own death swoop down on wings of darkness._

_Maeglin stood and watched the destruction of Gondolin, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. He threw back his head and howled his mirth to the sky, tears leaking from his eyes - from sorrow or joy, even he could not say._

"It wasn't my fault," he whispered now, voice cracked and dry. He licked his lips and forced his heavy eyelids open. Night had fallen while he lay there, and he was still alone.

It was fitting, he supposed, that the child of the twilight died as darkness fell.

_Your _Lómion is coming to you, mother... after so long.__

His father had fallen from here, too, all those years before. Had he lain here too, feeling the life drain from him, helpless in the face of death? Had he cursed those that had thrown him into the void, those that had stood by and watched and done nothing? He had cursed his own son and wife, then, and that curse had never faded.

They had called him unnatural, spawn of a Dark Elf. They had called him a bastard, because a forced wedlock meant nothing among the Noldor. He could have raged at them - had, in the beginning - but there was no use in that. All he had to do was wait...

All he had to do was betray them.

"Itarillë..."

 _It was my fault. But only for the love of you. Only for the love-_  The thought spun away, fragmented, and he tasted iron heat in his mouth.

The Hidden City had fallen, and he had fallen along with it. Down the stony cliff, into the smoke-stained sky. He sucked in a breath, tasting ash, and wondered where she was.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and was glad there was no one there to hear.

The darkness took him.


End file.
